


Don't Take my Love Away

by PositivePumpkin



Series: Whumptober 2019 [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dragged away, Other, Whump, Whumptober 2019, aziraphale and crowley are dragged away, idk what to call this mini series, no 6, thats the fic, this is part 1 of a series within a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 23:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: Whumptober Prompt: Dragged Away





	Don't Take my Love Away

They should have realized something was wrong when the humans had cleared out. But then, they hadn’t been looking around them, instead staring in each other’s eyes like the soppy love-sick immortal beings they were. Without Heaven and Hell on their backs they finally felt free to express their love openly.

It had happened sooner than they thought, mere weeks after the Avertaggedon. The silence of the park should’ve really been their first clue, but their surroundings always had a muted quality to them when they were together. It took the rumble of the earth and the flash of lightning for them to know anything was amiss. And though they had never fought together, only each other (and barely at that,) they moved in sync.

Hellfire danced at Crowley’s fingers while Holy Light burst from Aziraphale. The two struck, quick as a Serpent, hard as a Guardian. They tried to choose targets they’d have the advantage against, but the numbers were against them from the start. While many a demon was smote and many an angel slain, they had been surrounded. Demons poured on Crowley and angels grappled Aziraphale.

Where they had been carefully fighting back to back, careful in that they hadn’t wanted to hurt the other, now they were being torn apart. Crowley reached for Aziraphale, even as demons were tearing at his flesh. He yelled Aziraphale’s name, scrabbled and fought against the claws beginning to drag him down. In a desperate bid, he unfolded his wings in a powerful manoeuvre that flung several demons off him. Still, it wasn’t enough. His fingers brushed Aziraphale’s before his wings were painfully pinned and gripped.

Aziraphale wasn’t faring any better. Angels had firm grips on his corporation, he could feel fingers digging into his throat, but it wasn’t enough to silence his heartbroken cry of Crowley’s name. Gold and Light dripped from his wounds though the pain of battle was nothing compared to the pain of seeing Crowley be dragged back down into Hell screaming and reaching for him. Aziraphale followed Crowley’s example and flung angels off him with his own strong wings, but it just gave them more to grip and grab.

He was forced onto the ground, face into the dirt as his wings were wrenched into place and pinned against his back. Familiar shoes stood in front of his face, causing Aziraphale to look up at Gabriel’s cold, dead eyes. The bloody Archangel was smiling, though it didn’t look like an expression of joy, more a promise of pain to come. “Really now, Aziraphale, must you make this difficult?” He asked, talking down to the Principality as if he were no more than a stubborn, misbehaving child, “we only want what’s best for you, after all.”

Aziraphale didn’t believe that for a second. What was best for him was being dragged through the Earth into Hell. Instead of responding, he merely spit some of his golden blood onto Gabriel’s shoe and looked up at him defiantly. Rather than disappointed, Gabriel looked amused as he wiped the blood off his show, onto Aziraphale’s face before stepping on the Principality’s head, forcing his face back into the dirt. 

Infernal irons clamped around his wrists, inscribed with runes of hellfire. He gasped as he was cut off from all the powers of Heaven, he had taken for granted. With a lurch and a flash of light, he was back in Heaven, where he never wanted to be. The loss of Crowley so fresh in his breast he could only feel resentment and bitterness towards Heaven and the Heavenly Host.

“Since we can’t destroy you with Hellfire, and since you haven’t Fallen, we’ve been given no choice but to sentence you to Reformation,” Michael was the one sentencing him. Cold, impassionate Michael, Heaven’s General. Most likely not the one to mete out the punishment. Aziraphale mused, that probably Sandalphon would be the one to do it, he was the type.

Reformation. To reform. Hopefully it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Aziraphale could only pray that he wasn’t going to be unmade, atoms and Grace torn apart and reshaped into a new being. That God wouldn’t tear him asunder and shape him into someone—some_thing_ new. Cause he has no doubts about that, he wouldn’t be a person reformed in Heaven’s hands, he’d be a thing, a tool. The angel wasn’t sure if God was listening, or if She were even on their side, or if this was all more of the Ineffable Plan, but he prayed Crowley was okay, or at least better off than he was at the moment.

Crowley was not better off. He had been dragged through layers of Earth until he fell onto the damp floors of Hell. A pile of demons remained on top of him, clawing and scratching at every bit of flesh they could dig into. His throat was torn open, not that it mattered any more, he couldn’t discorporate down here, and they couldn’t kill him either. At least, not that they knew.

He had been dragged down, and now he was being dragged around. He would fight against every bit of ground they moved him, hissing and spitting venom the whole while. The demons, none whose name he cared to know, were jeering and cheering as they brought Crowley to Dagon. Dagon, who looked at him with her shark-like teeth gleaming, “we’re going to tear you apart Crowley. Rip you to shreds and build you back up into something truly demonic.”

Crowley spit venom directly in her face, delighted in her angry screech, even when it earned him a powerful backhand. Crowley laughed and laughed, “do your worst, Dagon.” Nothing could be worse than being separated from his angel. He hoped, and perhaps a small undemonic part of him prayed, that Aziraphale was getting a stern note or a verbal lashing and not anything worse.

Crowley had been brought to a disgusting, well-used torture chamber (well-used in that they hadn’t cleaned up after the last guy and there was still viscera and gore painting the walls.) He was chained up and held aloft, toes barely able to touch the floor. The iron bands on him were blessed and inscribed in holy runes, cutting him off from his demonic powers. He did get a laugh from the demons burning their hands putting it on him.

They both hoped and prayed they would make it through this. That they would see each other again. The two had no idea how wrong they both were.


End file.
